


I Can't Get No (Satisfaction)

by Anonymous



Category: British Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Emotional Baggage, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Insecurity, POV Second Person, Physical Insensitivity, Sex Talk, Sex Toys, demiromantic reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:41:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27785404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: You haven't been with Henry long yet, and it's your first actual romantic relationship... ever, to be honest. Emotional intimacy is something you don't have a lot of experience with, nor is the ability to orgasm by any hand but your own. Maybe it's naïve, but you're trying to hide that from him... especially that last part.
Relationships: Henry Cavill/Reader, Henry Cavill/You
Comments: 21
Kudos: 109
Collections: Anonymous





	I Can't Get No (Satisfaction)

**Author's Note:**

> This was borne from the realization that most sex depicts women who come with little stimulation (such as riding a thigh) or rather quickly. But that's not the case for everyone - it certainly doesn't work for me that way.
> 
> The idea then compounded when I randomly saw an anon on somebody's tumblr, asking if "orgasms are really like they're described in fanfic?" We condemn media for peddling unrealistic ideals, yet we fanfic writers (myself included) then imagine satisfying hypersensitive partners (the _pride_ in being able to make them come so quickly!) without proper disclaimers.
> 
> So here, this is a fic that tries to touch on a few of those problems. A woman who cannot come easily, who does not fall in love easily, who feels deeply but has learned to compartmentalize... maybe too well. And the highly self-indulgent fantasy of Henry being the perfect human being, helping her past her issues, giving you all quite emotional, but hopefully still hot smut to read.

Chest heaving and hair matted with sweat, Henry let himself fall to your side. His hand still petted you, smoothing over your thigh and hip and stomach while you stretched yourself out again. He hummed, content, and you couldn’t help but grin at his half-lidded, blissed-out look.

After a moment, you rolled onto your side and curled into him, seeking another soft kiss before you used his shoulder as a pillow. Damn this man, but even his sweat smelled nice. So you didn’t mind a bit when your fingers ran through the wet, coarse hair on and between the swells of his pectorals.

Henry hooked a foot into the blanket where it bunched up at the end of the bed, and pulled it over your quickly cooling bodies. Relaxing into him, the arm that he wrapped around your middle, you thoroughly enjoyed the simple pleasure of being near him. The thrill of knowing that he wanted you.

“One of these days,” Henry sighed, nuzzling into your hair, “I’ll be able to withstand you long enough to see you come first.”

_ Fuck. _ Against your will, you tensed. You knew you should play it cool, distract him before the thought really could take root, but it was useless. He’d already noticed your unease.

“What’s wrong?”

When you took too long to answer, he craned his neck and, since you still refused to meet his eyes, leaned up on his elbows.

“Darling?” he asked, uncertainly.

You shook your head, rubbing your palm over his wide chest. “Nothing, Henry. It doesn’t matter,” you whispered, hoarsely. Clearing your throat against the sudden tightness there, you continued with false cheer, “Better work on your stamina, mister.”

Henry did not look convinced. Worse, his frown said he didn’t buy it for a second. He kept studying you, evaluating, puzzling pieces together...

“You haven’t,” he realized. And then with a salacious grin: “Well let me remedy that immediately.”

“No!” you yelped, pushing against him to keep him from rolling you both over. “I’m good.”

Now he just looked confused. It was sweet, actually, how willing he was to ensure your pleasure although he was already satisfied. But in that moment you wished he wouldn’t. Images flashed through your mind, of strained smiles and cramping muscles and exhaustion.

“It’s late,” you told him, glad for the excuse. “You have to get up early tomorrow. Let’s just sleep.”

Henry hesitated for a long moment. You reached for him, cupped his jaw for a lingering kiss, until he laid back down again and drew you half on top of him.

“Okay.” The word rumbled through him. “If that’s what you want.”

*

Of course it was not over. Henry was clearly preoccupied, quieter as he returned from his day at the gym, training and practicing choreographies. You were still cooking, having gotten out of meetings late.

Henry stood in the doorway for a long moment, until you turned your attention to him rather than the stove.  _ Did I ruin it? _ you wondered. But that was ridiculous. How did one ruin a relationship by  _ not  _ asking for an orgasm?

You’d barely made it through your work-day either, trying to steel yourself for the conversation that was bound to happen. Henry had dropped it the night before, but he certainly didn’t understand. It was unfair to leave him wondering, and it was dangerous for your relationship - who knew what kind of conclusions he would draw?

“Food’s ready in a minute,” you told him gently. Odd, that these were the first words you’d spoken to each other since last night.

He nodded and approached, digging out cutlery to set the table.

When he was close enough, you touched his forearm, stepped in close and stretched up, hoping for a kiss. Henry looked down at you, strangely blank. Maybe it was premature, to seek affection before a proper explanation. Nobody liked secrets, being shut out of their own relationships. Just went to prove again how bad you were at them. Knowing better and yet… You shrunk back, heat behind your eyes.

But just then, Henry bent down and touched your lips together. It was utterly chaste, still you whimpered in relief. Henry softened, stayed pressed close for longer than you’d thought he would.

After you finally settled at the table, Henry watched you push the food around for a few seconds before he said: “Thanks for dinner.” And then nothing else, because he wouldn’t push.

Of course he wouldn’t.

“You’re welcome. And… about, uhm. Last night.” You sighed, and closed your eyes. Pretended it was dark, when such monumentally stupid things were easier said, without looking at each other. “I don’t have… orgasms. With partners.”

You winced. Yeah, it still sounded foolish. But at least if Henry knew, he might give up on his efforts to make you come, and you could enjoy the intimacy again without pretence, without pressure to perform.

Unless he left. Maybe this was somehow unacceptable to him.

“Never?”

You confirmed with a silent nod. Years, multiple partners… it had never happened. You’d never even been close to one.

“Oh my God, I’m--” he cut himself off, and you chanced a look at him. Henry stared off to the side, pained. “Those dozen or so times we’ve slept together. You just let me think that…”

Teeth bit into your lower lip. Yeah, you’d never said that you had come, or acted like you had, but… you’d let him assume. It was, in the end, just as bad.

“I’m sorry, Henry. I’ve tried before; it never worked. It has nothing to do with you, and everything to do with me and my… headspace. I didn’t know how to tell you without it sounding like a challenge.”

He mulled that over, absent-mindedly shoveling food in his mouth.

“Okay,” he said in the end. “But I still feel like an ass for not noticing.”

You grabbed his hand to press a kiss to his knuckles. He wanted to be a generous lover, and you could hardly fault him after the obfuscation.

*

Henry was more affectionate and open again after that horrifying confession, hopefully having worked through the feelings of betrayal during a rather silent dinner. But at the same time, he seemed even gentler. Touches were less demanding, kisses less ravenous.

Curled up on the couch together, Henry spooned you while watching a movie, and you could tell that he geared up to continue the topic.

“Do you even like sex?” he asked tentatively. Probably tried not to sound judgemental, not to pressure you for an answer he wanted to hear rather than the truth.

He needn’t have worried. You wiggled your ass against his front. “Yeah I do. And I love having you close.” You pulled his thick arms more firmly around yourself, melting into his heat. “Having you find pleasure in me. It is… heady. I usually don’t feel particularly sexy, but when you look at me like that…”

Henry hummed, and his hand started tracing over your stomach, accidentally-on-purpose bumping into the underside of your breasts. It was, at the same time, arousing and calming.

“I like that too,” he rumbled. “Like it when I can give my partner pleasure.”

“I’m sorry.” Suddenly that clump of sadness was back, choking you. Even as you wished to give him the entire world, this was something you didn’t know how to give. Men wanted women who were sensitive, who’d come multiple times at the barest touches, porn proved that. How long until he’d grow bored with you? “I’m so so sorry!”

You turned in his arms, needing him to see how sincere you were. When he noticed that your eyes were brimming with tears, he kissed your cheeks.

“Would you let me try?”

“I-- Henry.” This was exactly what you’d wanted to avoid. How could you possibly explain? “Please don’t worry about it. I don’t want you to get frustrated. I’ve never--”

He shushed you, thumb stroking over your temple to wipe away the tears that ran down into the couch cushions. “I understand that you were never able to, with others. But you’re my  _ girlfriend. _ I owe it to you to at least try, darling.”

“Fuck,” you cursed, turning your head away as you fought not to sob. Henry was correct, of course, you were supposed to be in a committed relationship. Not something you had a whole lot of experience with, and you kept messing up. You should have told him right away that first time.

Henry curled around you again, holding you close. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Fucking waterworks, not conducive to an adult discussion. You heaved a deep breath, trying to calm down. Imagined a big sturdy gate in front of your feelings. Shoved it closed. _Just emotions, nothing tangible._ _Focus on what’s real in the room around you: the soft couch, the drone of the movie, Henry so close you saw the brown flecks in his blue eyes._ From one breath to the next, you stopped crying. Compartmentalization for the win.

Henry leaned up, frowning at you suspiciously.

“I, uh. I’m not usually like this.” You gulped, because just thinking about it cracked those doors open again. “You just manage to trip over all my insecurities by accident.”

He hummed, petting over your hair. “Come on, let’s go to bed.”

*

When he’d said that he wanted to try, Henry apparently had already had a plan of attack. He steered you into getting into bed naked, then joined you wearing a pair of soft boxers. A clear sign that he expected his cock not to participate in the festivities.

You gulped, unable to savor the view because your mind was already racing with what to say when he’d deem the experiment failed in a couple of hours.

Lying down next to you, he caught your eyes and brought you back to the present.

“You said you like sex--” You nodded quickly in affirmation. “--and I assume that means you get yourself off.”

“With toys, usually. Yeah.”

Henry’s eyes lost their focus, clearly imagining  _ something. _ Then he shook himself, and started walking his fingers up your arm, down the middle of your chest. “Can you make yourself come with just your hands, too?”

You sighed happily, stretching and pressing into his touches. To return the contact, you rubbed over his shoulder and neck, his arm, anywhere you could reach. “I can, yeah. It’s just a lot more effort and… I’m usually too tired for patience.”

“Instant gratification generation,” he chuckled, as if he wasn’t the same age as you, and pecked your lips. “I replayed all our nights together, today, and I realized… you didn’t speak up much. Didn’t ask for anything, not even just pushing me to the right spots. I think… I think right now, I don’t even know what gets you going.”

Before you could apologize -- again -- his fingertips covered your mouth.

“I guess, you anyways didn’t expect an orgasm to happen. So it wouldn’t have mattered at all, right?” he wondered.

You pressed your lips together sadly, unused to being figured out.

His eyes were boring into yours, and you read the silent request in them easily:  _ Please tell me now. _

“I’m not good at this.” The disclaimer was required. “I’m not good at sex, at saying what I want. I second-guess every word, too corny, too porn-y, too…” You trailed off, remembering instances in which you’d wanted soft and slow and lingering, instead of fast and rough. Yearned for a connection you didn’t have with your bed partner. You had no right to ask for these things from your one-night-stands or friends with benefits. “... relationship-y,” you finished in a whisper.

With a sigh, Henry peppered more kisses over your face before catching your lips again. This kiss went deeper, tongues sliding together, but it stayed just as sweet and made you dizzy by being exactly what you’d been lacking many times before. Like he’d read your mind. “Say what you like, never mind how it sounds. I won’t laugh at you.”

You nodded, yet instead of speaking, you took his wandering hand and flattened it over your chest, prompting Henry to stroke all over your skin properly. It felt wonderful, nerve endings slowly coming alight.

“I’m so happy,” Henry continued with a soft smile. “I fell in love so fast when we met. You’re so kind and calm. I’m lucky that you agreed to a relationship despite… everything.”

Right, relationship. The words hit home somewhere deep in your chest that you had to squeeze your eyes closed. But they also filled you with warmth. This thing between you was more than just a way to get laid for him.

Henry leaned your foreheads together, and right against your lips, he asked: “How do you like to be kissed? Hmm? Softly?” He puckered his lips for a chaste kiss. “With a bit of teeth?” He nibbled at your lower lip, pulling on it. When you made a hurt little noise, he let go immediately and licked over it as penance.

Opening your mouth, you welcomed his tongue inside, sliding yours against it with a few twisting moves you hoped felt erotic.

“Sucking?” he asked in between breaths, but you shook your head.

His lips were already back on yours when you answered properly: “Only very lightly. Or it hurts.”

And so after a few more curls of his tongue behind your teeth, after you’d chased him back into his own mouth, did he actually suck gently on your tongue. The pain in the back of your throat stayed absent, and all you felt was the strange draw. It was enjoyable, and even tingled lightly. You hummed your appreciation.

“You’re doing so good for me,” Henry praised. “What about your gorgeous tits, love? Do you like your nipples played with?”

“Yeah, oh yeah.” You palmed your breasts, running your fingertips over the large areolas until the buds peaked again. Under his watchful eyes, you stroked them, flicked them, even carefully pinched and pulled them. “Fingers are good. Mouths are even better,” you told him, and laughed at the eager look on his face. “Go on,” you encouraged, and offered one to him.

He descended like a man starved, huge hand almost wrapping around it, testing its heft. He was a total boob man, as most men you’d been with. They were a rather defining curve of your body, after all. But by now he was more careful with his strength, and only lapped at them.

“You can suck on the nipple, flick your tongue against it,” you directed him, and treated your other side similarly with your fingers. It felt divine, little shocks travelling down your spine, causing you to arch to push closer instictively.

“Alternatively… rub the flat of your tongue all over it.” On your other nipple, you circled your palm for a similar feeling. It took a moment, but after a lot of nothing this friction suddenly switched to the edge of exquisite torture. “This has-- helped-- oh-- sometimes helped push me over,” you stammered, squeezing your thighs as the sensation shot straight to your clit. “Dragging my nipples against the bedsheets.”

Henry moaned, and his hand settled on your stomach again, shifting to your waist and hips and thighs and back upwards. It was only a question of time, eventually he cupped your mound and let his fingers tease between your folds.

Pulling off your tits, he grinned at you. “You’re doing amazing, telling me what you like. What about your pussy, darling? Gonna tell me exactly how to make you feel good here, too?”

“Yes but I’m… I’m not very sensitive, Henry. This won’t be quick.”

“Don’t worry about the ending, darling. Just keep telling me what feels good.”

He’d apparently picked up on a pattern, because the fingers he slipped between your folds stayed gentle and slow, even as he sighed when he realized that you were soaking wet. He just kept tracing the lips, teasing along the slit, skirting around the clit… and watching your face throughout. You were almost afraid of what he picked up there, and although you wanted to stare at his gorgeous face forever, you had to close your eyes against the intensity.

After a few minutes of him mostly playing with your cunt, while randomly kissing your face or throat or breasts, you got into it enough that your stomach and thigh muscles contracted reflexively at certain spots, and any time he skimmed your clit even lightly.

“Here we go,” he whispered against your ear. When you looked up, his grin was entirely too smug. “Don’t forget who you’re here with. Your…?”

His finger tapped straight on your clit for the first time, the spark of it catching you by surprise. “Fuck! My. My boyfriend.”

“Good,” he rumbled, and kissed you again, fingers back to their lazy circling.

Oh, he was most certainly trying to condition you, using praise and kisses as positive reinforcement. You decided that you didn’t care. Quite the opposite: you loved it, the attention and tenderness that you’d never felt bestowed upon you before.

You hooked your leg over his hip, pulling yourself more open to his questing fingers, possibly also his gaze. His finger flicked up, from your slit up to the clit, two-three-four-five times in rapid succession, the feeling suddenly so intense that your back bowed and you squirmed.

“Yes?” Henry asked, checking in.

You nodded emphatically. “Yes, yes,” you panted. But also: “never enough though.”

He harrumphed, resuming the calm stroking, and kissed you again for a long while. Like this was already the moment he wanted to commit to memory.

Every now and then, he’d switch to lapping at your nipples, or use his wet hand to trail over your thighs, stomach, or knead your breasts a little. Each time, the pause and later return of his fingers made you a bit more sensitive. He was already a lot more patient and took more time teasing you than anyone else ever had before. Your body hummed with it, but you knew that even after half an hour, you were nowhere close to an actual orgasm.

“Henry, it’s been--”

He cut you off with another kiss. “Unless you’re telling me to stop because  _ you  _ want to stop, don’t say it. Don’t worry about time. I have you in my arms, I get to play with you for hours… there’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

If that was true, if he truly wanted to continue until you called it quits for whatever reason, you were happy to let him. It felt good, to have his hands all over you, his voice low in your ear, showering you with endearments and praise. “Okay,” you sighed, and relaxed back into the bed. You hadn’t even noticed that you’d tensed up. With your eyes closed, you turned your face towards him, reaching for him blindly and finding his stubbled jaw.

Henry kissed you again, unhurried, just like the circles he drew between your pussy lips. You responded just as leisurely, trying to unwind as you pushed past your doubts about… everything. That he didn’t actually feel deeply for you at all, lying to himself about what he wanted from you. That he’d leave, eventually, like everyone else, and break your heart in the process if you truly let him in. That you’d finally  _ want  _ to be intimate, romantic, loving with someone, only to find out that you  _ couldn’t. _

“I’m scared,” you whispered, without really meaning to, and pulled on his shoulder to get him closer. Tears welled up again behind your eyes.

Confused, he followed until he had climbed between your legs and loomed over you, braced on knees and elbows. You wrapped around him, dragging him in. “I’ll squish you,” he worried, but you just pulled again and so he settled, letting you feel his weight. “What are you afraid of, love?”

His thumbs wiped away your tears again. You were such a mess! Just a bundle of self-esteem issues. He was patient now, but soon he’d grow tired of holding you together. Sniffling, you shoved those emotions away again. Cleared your throat.

“No no, don’t do that. You don’t have to do that,” Henry pleaded, words rushed.

Your eyes snapped open, shocked. Did he really mean…?

“That thing where you… turn off your feelings.”

Okay, he  _ did. _ Suddenly you realized: “I’m fucking up again, aren’t I? No matter what I do, I’m fucking up. When I try to... open up, I turn into a blubbering idiot. When I try to push that down to have a normal conversation, it means I’m shutting you out again. I-- I can’t…”

But Henry was kissing you again, right on your still-moving mouth, until the avalanche of words stopped. “I prefer the blubbering idiot,” he said cheekily, even though his tone was sad. “Come on, sweetheart. Tell me, what are you afraid of?”

“This.”  _ This whole fiasco. _ You sighed deeply, more difficult than usual with his weight on your chest. Strangely, it calmed you. His forehead was now resting against yours, and your eyes were closed or they’d go cross. But that helped too. “That I realize… the reason I’ve never been in romantic relationships is because I’m not romantic. Can’t be, even when I want to. That you get… frustrated and feel lonely or something and we break up.”

Henry hummed, and seemed to ponder it. He raised himself up so you could actually look at him again, only slightly distracted by his rippling biceps and abs, before he spoke. “How about this: if that ever happens, I’ll tell you, I promise.”

Mollified, you nodded.

“Besides… I have a hunch that you are actually  _ very _ romantic, and feel very deeply. Just not with everyone. And you’re out of practice, and that is overwhelming.”

“Are you a psychiatrist?” You laughed despite yourself. “Why can you explain this better than I do?”

Now he looked sheepish. “I, uh. Needed someone to talk to this morning. One of my mates, he’s a psychiatrist. I’m sorry, I know this is very personal--”

For once, it was you who silenced him with a kiss. You smiled softly. “I’m not thrilled, of course, but I understand. I’m sorry for being so complicated.”

With a smile of his own, Henry leaned down to whisper in your ear: “I think you’re worth it.”

You shuddered, and when Henry sucked softly down over your throat, mouthing words along the way of ‘worth every minute’ and ‘so much love and empathy’, complimenting you, you were turned on harder than before. Your hands roamed over him, his beautifully sculped arms, the wide shoulders, the soft skin below his belly button. With delight, you watched him shiver as your fingertips slid along the valley of his spine, and when you got to the small of his waist, he moaned, loudly.

Relishing the physical, but also an emotional closeness as you’d never shared it with others, your entire body was lighter, moving along with Henry’s mouth as he sucked on your nipples again, and kissed your torso all over. Moved steadily lower. You lost contact with his skin, but buried your fingers in his hair instead.

Fingers traced between your slick pussy lips again, then spread them open and you felt his breath, a tease of its own. “Yes, yes,” you begged, because you wanted to know how he’d eat you out.

A firm, pointed tongue traced the same path his fingers had taken, but it was much hotter. It writhed, more agile than his fingers had been, before flattening out and dragging mercilessly from your entrance to your clit. There Henry circled, and -- making sure you held his gaze -- sucked it softly and flicked over it hard like you’d taught him on your nipples.

It was intense. You choked, head falling back against the pillow. Your thighs clenched hard, and only with effort you released his head again. In apology, you petted his head, but he just pulled off for a moment to grin widely at you.

“Oh stop looking so smug and get back to work,” you snarked, making him laugh.

“Do you want my fingers?” When you nodded, he asked: “How?”

A blush rose on your cheeks, you could feel its heat. But you would not be cowed now. Shy about sex was something you refused to be on principle. Raising up on an elbow, you used your other hand to demonstrate. “Two fingers, curled up. And… pump them, no wiggling.” If your failed one-night-stands were good for nothing else, at least you could tell what you hadn’t enjoyed.

Henry quirked an eyebrow at that, but nodded gamely. “Anything else?”

“Lube!” You twisted to reach the toy box, fighting its top off. You quickly located the half-empty bottle by touch, and tossed it next to Henry.

“You’re plenty wet, darling.” He gestured at his briefs that you’d soaked while pressed together, and wiped over the stubble at his chin.

You hesitated. The last time you’d requested more slick, your partner had laughed at that too. For him, it had been a point of pride that he’d never needed it with his partners. And you hadn’t been confident enough to insist. You never asked again.

Something must have been visible in your expression, because Henry grabbed the bottle and twisted its pump-mechanism unlocked. “Hey, no, of course. As much as you want.” He settled in between your legs again, and kissed your hip. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. Thanks for telling me.”

Flopping back flat onto the pillow, you heaved a breath, weirdly relieved. Seemed that a whole decade of bad sex had left some marks on you, ones that you’d never had to acknowledge before. Hell, you’d never allowed yourself to call it  _ bad sex _ before tonight. Looking down your less-than-trim body, you brushed the dark curls off Henry’s forehead. “Tonight’s a lot of stops and starts, hm?”

His eyes went a bit unfocused, before he nodded. “It struck me again how little I knew about you before today. All the sex we’ve had before… I’m mad at myself, for not asking what you liked. Just assuming, going with the flow.”

Your heart clenched, feeling at least half responsible. “Do you want to stop?”

Henry mouthed over your hipbones and over your mound. “No. It’s even more incentive to try and give you all the pleasure you deserve.”

He grabbed the backs of your thighs and directed you to drape them over his shoulders. His powerful body pushed them upwards, rolling you up a little. You easily let yourself be bent in half, and he shoved a small pillow under your hips. Then Henry descended onto your poor clit again. He resumed his circling, lapping, flicking, building up slowly and patiently, just as before. He waited for your breathing to come heavier, for your thighs to tremble with the need to clench, before he would increase the intensity of his ministrations.

And then, he added new moves: his tongue licked deeper into your cunt, the hot muscle curling into you as if he really did mean to dig out as much of your slick as possible to eat. His tongue pushed against your front walls, probably on purpose. Finally a finger - a single solitary finger, tracing where his tongue still pressed in, and then taking over, just to the first knuckle.

Henry pumped the lube bottle, the cold slick running down his finger and into you. “How much?”

“Squelching, dripping wet,” you answered immediately. Then added more quietly, “Any friction heat turns me off.”

He nodded solemnly, and added two more pumps. After that, his finger slipped in so easily that you moaned in delight. He watched in fascination, twisting his finger slightly, curled up as you’d asked, and--

“There! Slightly to the-- yeah. Aah,” you panted, knowing from your masturbation with your favorite dildo that this was a spot that worked well. “More!”

Henry grinned, pressing a kiss to the inside of your knee, and on the next up-down motion he pulled out entirely, and stabbed back in with two blunt, wide fingers. The stretch was a shock in the best way, your hands twisting in the sheets.

Still, he didn’t go for broke. He continued to play, to watch his fingers sink into you and spread your pussy open. Slowed down only to speed up again, curling more, twisting… the unpredictability was amazing. But it wasn’t going to be enough.

“Need… something on my clit.”

Your request broke him out of his reverie, and with an indulgent smile, he bent down to lick it, wriggle the tip of his tongue all over it. Your next moan was already higher in pitch, as sparks lit both inside and outside your cunt, merging low in your belly.

Henry’s free hand grabbed for yours, simply holding on. Pulling off for a breath, he told you: “Play with your nipples for me.”

And so you did. Your free hand rolled your large breasts close enough so you could get one bud in your mouth, using all the tricks you’d explained earlier, sucking and flicking, while Henry copied the movements on your clit.

“Fuck,” you gasped. More pleasure was building, so very slowly. But it was there, you felt it. That potential. You just needed to… “Keep going.” Shit, that had sounded like an order. The thought threw you right off the tracks. Good feelings fizzled away, leaving you with the weirdness of Henry hard at work between your legs that you couldn’t even appreciate.

_ His hand must be cramping by now. He must be getting bored. _

The dissociation didn’t help matters. You sighed, pushed your fingers through his curls and carefully tugged. “Henry.”

He took one look at your defeated expression, let down your legs to wrap around his waist, and crawled over you again. “What happened?”

How could you tell him? You were embarrassed by how easily you could be distracted from the most pleasurable feelings. That you interrupted  _ yet again, _ sabotaging your own orgasm.

_ No, no. Not saying anything won’t help either. _ Carefully, neat and orderly, you lined those thoughts up in your mind: He already knows something’s wrong. He wants you to explain. He’s been sympathetic so far.

It took a long moment until you could get words out, and Henry spent them leaning over you again, giving you just a little bit of his weight, probably remembering what had calmed you down before. His large, clean right hand played with your hair, and you tilted your head into it unconsciously. You only realized when he smiled again, and pressed lips to yours that tasted strongly of your juices.

“I keep worrying,” you said finally. “That I’m making demands. That you’re getting tired. You get nothing out of this!” you finished quickly, trying to justify your concern as he made to respond.

At this, Henry chuckled. Then suddenly laughed loudly.

You raised your eyebrows at him, perturbed.

“Oh sweetheart,” he pressed out between guffaws, before calming enough. “Darling.” He kissed you again, briefly. “You’re afraid that I’d leave, because you’re not giving me what I want. Well, I want you to... Just for tonight, can you please be entirely selfish?”

You blinked up at him, nonplussed for a moment, before the implication sunk in.

“You have my express permission to  _ use me  _ however you wish. Be greedy.” Henry smirked at your blush, and your wide eyes. “Anything you want,” he added.

A dangerous promise, you wanted to point out, but didn’t. It would have been false bravado.

“No matter what happens,” Henry whispered into your ear, then pressed a kiss to your cheek, “either way, I’m not leaving, darling.” His left hand, slick and filthy, laced fingers with yours. “Can you say it?”

He kept nosing at your jaw and neck, so you didn’t have to look at him when you repeated, “You’re not leaving.” The words weighed heavy, like lies. Like something you said but didn’t believe.

Henry hummed. “Now you just need a petname for me.”

Something inside you recoiled. You had no claim on this man! “I don’t--”

“I want you to,” he cut you off. His new magic words. Using your insecurities against you, in a ploy to train them out of you. Jerk. 

You sighed. Sweetheart. Darling. Love. Those were the things Henry called you. Honey? Babe? They all fit ill for the hunk of a man currently snuggling into you like a body pillow. “Can I call you ‘bear’?”

“Mmmh. It’s a start,” he allowed, and nibbled your shoulder. “Now have you figured out how you want me?”

Your mind reeled, the sex and Henry’s  _ request  _ almost forgotten. “I-- I think,” you started, haltingly, “I got lost in my head because you were too far away.”

“Okay,” he mumbled against the tops of your breasts and collarbones. “Wanted to keep talking to you, telling you how amazing you feel when you start to get lost in pleasure.”

You shivered. Yeah, that worked. “Is your, uhm, wrist okay? I’d like your fingers… back like before.”

In response, Henry simply let go of your hand and traced his still-damp fingers down between your thighs, tickling along your side on the way. “We’ll add a bit more lube,” he noted, eyeing you from underneath his curls that hung into his face.

Tenderly, you brushed them back. “Thanks, bear.”

He grinned widely, proudly, and pushed up again to reward you with a sweet, toe-curling kiss. One that promised a future, and you hoped that you could live up to it.

“And, uhh. Can I use my--”

Henry was already nodding, sitting up so you could reach your toy box again. When you lay back down he joined you, on his side next to you, pulling your leg over his hip in the same position you’d been… hours ago, it felt like.

His elbow supported him, allowing him to press more kisses to your lips and nose and neck and chest, while that hand combed through your hair. The other - slicked up again - descended onto your pussy again, playing with your folds and teasing at your entrance.

It was several minutes later when he finally asked, curiosity in his voice: “Not using your toy yet?”

“Mmmh wanna feel you stretch me, first.” You felt drunk, your senses overwhelmed at all the points of contact between you. As if he was  _ everywhere _ , all around you. The kisses Henry dove in for stole your breath. The licks and flicks over your nipples.

At that, he pushed in with two fingers, and you both moaned as you opened for him. There was so much lube that it trickled down your butt and soaked the pillow under your hips, but the bliss of his fingers moving resistance-free was worth the tickle.

Only when he’d gotten down a good, unhurried rhythm did you start the vibe on its lowest setting, and set it carefully against the side of your clit. Immediately, you moaned breathily, that particular spark of pleasure well-known and loved. Henry had done a fantastic job before, but nothing matched the intensity of a good vibrator.

He shifted a little, switching the angle to give you room. “Oh yeah, love, do you feel it already? Will you let me see while you make yourself come?” He petted your hair, steadily pumped into your pussy… You were captured, completely.

“I think so,” you replied with not a small measure of relief. The coil of pleasure in your center was winding up, even if it would take a while yet.

“Faster,” you requested after a bit. Dutifully, Henry picked up the tempo of his fingers, curled slightly to the side again, catching the perfect spot. “Ah-ah-ah yes there! Stay there! Please!” you begged, not because you were truly afraid he’d stop, but to let him know that he had found it again.

Each shove of his fingers nailed it, and his mouth kept sucking your areolas and laving at your nipples. You soon had to increase the setting of the vibe to keep up, your panting and moaning getting louder.

“Are you enjoying your boyfriend’s fingers, darling?” Henry asked naughtily, then quickened the pace again unasked, pistoning in and out.

“Fuck!” You swore, desperately pressing the vibe against your clit, shifting it to chase the sharp pleasure. “Please, please…!”

For long seconds, the ball of heat in your belly compacted, your free hand curled around his shoulder, your toes around nothing. Everything prickled. And then--

It exploded. Tingling turned to throbs, stupefying and  _ fantastic. _ You moaned, louder than you’d ever been before. Maybe because there was finally somebody there to hear and appreciate it. Your heel dug into Henry’s thigh to spur him on, and he must have understood the message because his hand and mouth continued their work while the vibe kept whirring away, pushing more heat, extending your orgasm heartbeat by racing heartbeat.

You teetered on the edge of oversensitivity, loving every moment even as tears rolled down your cheeks. Only when you finally heaved a deep, gulping breath did you let him go. To his credit, he slowed down rather than pushing off, and finally stilled when you shut off the vibe. Fingers still deep within you, his palm now covered your clit. Minute movements caused little shivers to travel through you.

“Henry… Henry.” Oh, you’d been saying his name for a while. On little happy sighs. You tapped him lightly. “Henry?”

The new inflection caused him to react, to look up. You raised your hips briefly to discard the pillow and lower your legs, and then grabbed every inch of him that came into reach. Pulled him down for a kiss that still tasted faintly of your own juices. Tasted of delirious gratitude and  _ love. _

When he tried to extricate his hand from your depths, you squeezed your thighs closed around it. “I like this. A little longer.”

He chuckled, and collapsed half on top of you. “You did so well, sweetheart. Thank you.”

His cock was hard, but when you enquired about it, he just rubbed his nose on your shoulder. “Not tonight.” Instead he retrieved the blanket from the unused half of the bed, and you helped cover you both, seeing as you still held one of his hands hostage.

You yawned, and rubbed your palm over the short hair at his nape, luxuriating in the feeling of his head pillowed on your shoulder, for a change. “Mmh. Thank  _ you, _ boyfriend,” you whispered, and fell asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I wish I were brave enough to de-anon, but at the moment I am not.  
> Nevertheless, I would love to hear your thoughts in the comments.


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